


spaces in between

by evanescent



Series: under starless skies [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Reboot, rooftop talks about resurrection and family (but not the one you think i mean), strange ways of not-bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanescent/pseuds/evanescent
Summary: “Does it remind you of him?” Jason asks suddenly, his voice calm, quiet. Damian clicks his tongue at him to mask his uneasiness.“What?”“You’ve been trying and failing to stare subtly, so figured I’d ask,” Jason explains and tugs at his white streak briefly. “This. It reminds you of good old Ra’s, doesn’t it?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> this one was sitting on my drive since like january because i wasn't sure how to proceed with it, but i decided to make a series of one-shots focusing on al ghuls' involvement and impact on batkids' lives. that shit keeps me awake at night (and you can bet it does bruce, too)
> 
> as far as warnings go for this one, there's nothing graphic, but there are obviously mentions of death, resurrection and questionable parenting

Damian is crouched on a rooftop of a warehouse near the docks when he hears someone land behind him. He tenses for a moment; hard, heavy footsteps make him think of Father, but Batman would be silent, regardless of whether he’s angry or not, so that’s not him. Therefore, he’s almost not surprised to see the Red Hood crouch down on Damian’s right, leaving a reasonable distance between them.

“Little demon brat birds shouldn’t be out by themselves at night,” he says, his voice just on the edge of mocking and annoyed, “especially when they’re benched.”

Damian _tts_ at him. “I do not know what you are talking about, Hood.”

“Come on, kid,” Jason scoffs. “No way in hell your ribs are fully healed after what happened on Kane Bridge last week.” And Damian’s first instinct is to touch his ribs and make sure the bandages are still in place because it’s true, but he controls the impulse. “I can actually relate if you were going crazy doing nothing at the Manor, but still. Not your brightest idea.”

Damian glares at him, hopes it’s still pronounced regardless of his domino. “What is it to you? Why are you here?”

Hood shrugs. “Like the view,” he says, gesturing to the shady, run-down warehouses, dirty river and thick smog hanging in the air.

As irritated as he is with the man’s unexpected appearance, Damian decides to ignore him in favor of continuing to observe the docks for a few minutes more. If nothing happens, he supposes he’ll have to do with stopping some petty muggings.

A moment later, he’s startled by a faint, mechanical hiss and he glances to the side to find Jason taking off his helmet and putting it on the ground next to himself.

“You’ll have to forgive me, brat,” he says, not sounding particularly sorry, and lights up a cigarette.

Damian doesn’t grace him with an answer, but he does watch Jason from the corner of his eye; seemingly, he’s at ease, almost relaxed as he exhales the smoke, shaking off the ash from the tip of the cigarette and staring into the distance. He isn’t wearing his red domino tonight and his hair is sort of a mess, black curls mussed up by the helmet. Damian, however, finds his eye drifting to the shock of white falling in front of Jason’s forehead. He rarely sees the other man without the helmet – actually, rarely sees him at all since he doesn’t actively antagonize them that often these days – so he still finds that particular detail… unnerving.

“Does it remind you of him?” Jason asks suddenly, his voice calm, quiet. Damian clicks his tongue at him to mask his uneasiness.

“What?”

“You’ve been trying and failing to stare subtly, so figured I’d ask,” Jason explains and tugs at his white streak briefly. “This. It reminds you of good old Ra’s, doesn’t it?”

There’s something strange in Jason’s voice, perhaps a bit of self-deprecating black humour, but Damian doesn’t really want to dwell on it right now; instead, he does his best not to stiffen visibly at the mention of his Grandfather. It’s been so long, it shouldn’t matter anymore.

“Frankly, Todd, save for that perhaps, you do not remind me of him at all,” Damian tells him flatly after a moment, when he’s sure nothing in his voice will give him away.

Jason snorts at that, taking another long drag from his cigarette. “Good, I don’t know about you, but I take it as a compliment.”

And perhaps it’d have been the end of this not-quite conversation, as Jason doesn’t seem particularly interested in pursuing it, but Damian, to his own surprise, asks, “Why don’t you dye it?”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be thrown off balance. “Huh?”

“If it does remind you of my Grandfather and it makes you… uncomfortable, why not cover it up?”

Jason looks at him for a long moment, his teal eyes watchful and guarded. He lets the rest of his cigarette burn before stubbing it out. Then, he’s shaking his head. “That’s not what you want to ask,” he says.

And that’s – yes, that’s true. As loath as he is to admit it to himself, Damian supposes there are some things he’d like to ask Jason about. He has wanted to since they found out about the circumstances regarding his resurrection and restoration, although his curiosity is probably based on less personal and more selfish grounds than Father’s or Grayson’s.

Then again, perhaps it gives him the advantage of actually being able to ask _and_ listen.

“Do you keep it as a reminder?” Damian asks then, almost hesitantly.

Jason taps his index finger against his knee once, twice. “Yes and no,” he says. Damian doesn’t expect him to elaborate – at best, they’re not enemies anymore, definitely not friends. But after a long moment, he continues, “Taking a dip in Lazarus Pit, on the top of that, while your crazy grandpa was there, is not something I can forget about, even though I don’t really remember it. Not in the way most people would, anyway,” he adds, perhaps sensing Damian’s questioning look. “It’s like… Ah, hell, it was like things painfully coming into focus after being blurred for long. It was sharp and electric, not in a good way. Burning, drowning, suffocating, you name it. I felt… swallowed.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve been around these things for a long time. You know how many things serve as reminders.”

“Acids,” Damian says, without having to think about it twice. “Fumes.”

Jason nods. “Yeah, those,” he agrees and chuckles humorlessly. “Sometimes all it takes is rain combined with faint, chemical smell in the air. It’s enough to make my skin itch and make me want to throw up.”

Damian wonders why Jason is telling him all that, sharing such vulnerable information, exposing himself – but, with a jolt, he realizes that it doesn’t change the way he perceives Jason. Somehow, it doesn’t make him look weak in Damian’s eyes.

This realization is both annoying and calming.

“Do you regret that Mother used the Pit to restore you?” he asks, words out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Ha,” Jason breathes out, but his shoulders tense. “It was either that or me being there without really being _here_ for unforeseeable future, as far as Talia’s resources stood.”

“That’s not an answer,” Damian points out, stubborn to the core.

“Because it’s a loaded question.” Jason makes a move as if he wants to light another cigarette, but doesn’t go through with it in the end. “Do I regret coming back? Sometimes. Do I blame Talia for seeing a chance and taking it? No. Do I wish it all could have happened in a different way? Sure.”

“Mother did what she thought was best,” Damian says, his voice speaking of conviction he doesn’t feel, hasn’t really felt when it came to Mother for some time now.

Jason barks a laugh at that. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, I’m just not sure whose well-being she had in mind.” He cuts himself off abruptly and sighs again. “Look, kid. As far as things go, I don’t really care for Talia’s reasons to find me, take care of me. It was probably to get back into Bruce’s good graces and when it became obvious that wouldn’t work, she decided to indulge my quest, but keep me at bay.”

“She used you,” Damian states simply.

“Yes. And I made use of the resources she presented me with.” Jason shrugs and Damian’s eye drifts to a holder in which he thinks Jason keeps his flame dagger. “We aren’t on particularly great terms now, but she was there for me when no one else had and it’s something that matters to me.”

Damian is silent for a moment before he speaks again. “When I must had been around eight year old, I was spending most of my time with various teachers. Mother seemed especially busy at that time, Grandfather went as far as to mention she’s been neglecting her part in my education because…” he trails off, suddenly unsure.

“It’s okay, you can say it,” Jason tells him.

“Because her _pet project_ had been taking up a lot of time.”

“Figures,” Jason sneers, but there’s no real bite in it. “I guess I was already your grandpa’s least favorite.”

“I asked once, but Mother refused to specify what was her… project about. Just said it’s someone. I suppose this was the closest I have come to finding out about your existence,” Damian adds.

“Well, to be fair, I had no idea about you being in the picture, either,” Jason says. “Your mom can be really tight-lipped when she wants to, can’t she?”

Damian can’t quite help his hackles rising at that. “She must have had a reason–”

“Jeez, chill, kid,” Jason cuts him off. “Talia does whatever the hell she wants and we both know it. But she must have had a reason to reach out to me and ask to help you.”

 _That_ gets Damian’s attention. “She contacted you?” he asks, quashing hurt and jealousy he shouldn’t be feeling. He hasn’t heard from her in months, which is probably a good thing overall, but.

“Yeah, I was surprised, too,” Jason admits. “But I guess I do owe her at least this one time more, so here I am.”

Finally, the second part of the man’s statement registers. “Why would I need _your_ help?” Damian spits out, disbelieving. Jason snorts.

“Here, I was starting to worry you do have a heart after all,” he comments flippantly. “And to answer your question, Ra’s is apparently starting to go off the rails again. I mean, it’s been awhile since he last sent ninjas after your or tried to steal your body, hasn’t it? Or Replacement’s, for that matter.” Jason tilts his head to the side, looking away from Damian for a moment. “That was a really fucked up thing if you ask me, by the way.”

“So you are saying that he sent ninjas after me,” Damian states, still calm. Ninjas, he thinks he can handle, even in his currently injured state, but deciding to sneak out tonight does seem like a rather bad idea now.

Jason picks up his helmet and calls, “Duck, Robin.”

And, to his own bewilderment, Damian obeys – which is sort of a good thing, as a bolt of something like lightning rips through the air where his upper body just was. He rolls over the rooftop, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and kneels closer to Jason’s side, who is in full Red Hood getup again.

“Even better,” Jason says, gesturing to three figures looming on a rooftop across from theirs. “He sent _magical_ ninjas. I hope you’re on good terms with Zatanna or some other magic folks, kid, because we could use that kind of help like, right now.”

Damian groans internally as he makes a break for the edge of the roof, Jason keeping up with his pace easily. It looks like they’re in for a long night.


End file.
